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Laurel smooths a hand over her hair carefully. “I know, sweetheart.”

“Are we in trouble?”

That one hits hard.

I crouch down so she can see me properly. “No, baby. None of this is your fault.”

Lucy studies my face seriously, then nods once. She believes me.

On the drive back to Redwood Run, Laurel stays quiet. Lucy falls asleep clutching Bun before we even hit the highway.

Rain thickens around the truck again.

Finally Laurel says softly, “I think I’m starting to get scared of him.”

I grip the wheel more tightly, and somewhere underneath the anger burning hot in my chest, another feeling settles in beside it.

For the first time since I heard Maggie disappeared, I seriously wonder what Tom White is actually capable of.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Laurel

The first things I notice when we pull into the driveway is that the downstairs lights are on and Ashby's SUV parked beside the porch, rainwater beading across the hood in silver streaks. A second later I spot Torin's bike near the side of the house, black and gleaming wet beneath the trees.

I stare at both vehicles through the rain-speckled windshield before turning toward Briggs.

"You told them," I say.

Briggs kills the engine. “Yep.”

In the backseat, Lucy lifts her head sleepily from Bun. “Are we home?”

I summon a smile as I turn to look at her. “Yes, sweetheart.”

She rubs one eye with her fist before peering out the window, noticing the SUV. “Whose here?”

“I think its Ashby,” I tell her. “And maybe Torin.”

She smiles, and my heart squeezes in my chest. She trusts them more than she trusts her father.

I turn back to see Briggs glancing toward the lit windows of the house. “You want me to send them away?”

I stare at him. He’s deadly serious. Like my answer actually matters.

It's a strange thing to notice, but over the last few weeks I've become used to these men quietly making space for me when I need it.

I don't know when that happened.

I sigh, but not unhappily, more with a sort of relief. “No. It’s fine,” I tell him.

Lucy eagerly unbuckles her seatbelt. “Maybe they brought snacks.”

“Maybe,” Briggs says. “I think Torin might have some chips.”

“Bun likes chips,” she replies, opening her door and sliding out.

The second we step onto the porch, the front door opens.